This is something I wanted to create a moderately long time ago. I’ve previously tried to, but I had felt the story lacked substances and was merely something to dwell upon at a Halloween event or in a Tim Burton-esque children’s story.
Recently, an acquaintance of mine challenged me to try again – so I did.
Rather glad how it actually turned out.
“Witch of the Frail”
In the dark thick woods of the shadowy grove
Lie vivid dreams and nightmares both,
For the towering depths of this wooden grave
Harbor but ill and terrible fate.
The Witch of the Frail, the Feeble and Pale,
Dwells lonely amongst the bat-riddled gales;
And lonely she is, yet alone she is not,
For horrible secrets she hides and she’s got.
The elders do speak of this hideous hag,
How she cackles and screams from across the crags.
Unspeakable things she does in her cove
Hidden in the depths of the shadowy grove.
Vile fluids she stirs in her kettle,
Wrung from the men she snatches for cattle –
“Beak of the crow and eye of the snake,
Sinew scraped from the bottom of the lake –
Banish the light and rise in the night;
Rattle, my children, my dulcet delight!” –
She screams under stars, that harrowing crone;
Lonely she is, yet never alone –
“Roots of the shade and leaf of the thorn –
Open your eyes in death, be reborn;
Breathe in deeply, breathe in the fumes,
In life, be bound to shambling tombs.” –
She bids her offspring, this woman vile
And feeds them her flesh, her blood and her bile –
“Cackling flames and smouldering coals –
I tear out my heart so you can be whole –
Claw of the raven, tongue of the dove –
And rise once more, my horrible love!” –
She chants in the moonlight, speaks to the trees,
Unchained and unharmed, yet never free;
She coddles her children, reads in the bones;
And lonely she is, yet never alone.